Turtle Tales
by The Light of Reason
Summary: FreyReh's A-Z Challenge, TMNT style! CHAPTER 5: Eggs. Michelangelo asks about a sensitive topic.
1. Angle

_Disclaimer: Sorry, guys, no turtles here! They belong to Nickelodeon (and are cuter than ever _8D)_  
I found FreyReh's A-Z prompt challenge and couldn't resist. I like that while the prompt forces me to write multiple chapters, they don't have to be related. That increases the liberty I can take with the ideas, as the progression doesn't have to be logical. I can switch tone at will and it's AWESOME!  
Here's my attempt at the first one. I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

Angle:

"Damn!"

With a big wind-up, Raph kicked the lab door again, the thick metal slab barely shuddering in its frame upon impact.

"It won't open!" he growled, the old turtle luck running true to form.

Three minutes they had been working on the door and he and Don were no closer to opening it. It simply refused to budge. They had tried hacking the electronic lock only to find that the entire electrical system was down. Apparently upon their discovery, Bishop had taken it upon himself to put the EPF facility on lockdown, including the electronics and any wireless signals. While this made it more difficult for the guards to find the brothers – a disadvantage, certainly – it also rendered the turtles' headsets useless for communication. Meaning Raphael and Donatello couldn't contact Leonardo and Michelangelo to explain their quandary.

In the wake of their detection, the brothers divided into pairs for safety. A few seconds of deliberation brought them all to the conclusion that Raph should team up with Don, if only to keep the fighting to a minimum.

Luckily they had completed their mission before being discovered by Bishop and his men. When the facility went dark, save for the red battery powered emergency lights, the pairs had split up at Leo's command to find an exit. Leo and Mikey had slipped easily into the ventilation ducts overhead while Raph and Don raced toward the nearest emergency exit in hopes of making their great escape. Unfortunately, the foot-thick titanium door was securely sealed, leaving no other escape route. At this rate, Leo and Mikey would have already reached the established rendezvous point and be wondering where they were.

"Damn!" Raphael huffed again, his hands flying upward to seize his head before flopping uselessly to his sides.

Donatello resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the expletive, recommending with a hint of condescension, "You might want to expand your vocabulary, Raph."

"Oh yeah, genius? And how's that gonna help us?" Raph countered, gesticulating violently to the door.

"It won't," Don admitted, rummaging in his duffel bag with a look of concentration. "And neither will sheer force."

"Then how're we gonna get out of here?" Raph asked, desperation making a brief appearance before anger and frustration regained possession of his features.

"What we need," Don continued, withdrawing six small silver discs from his bag, "is a new angle."

"What the shell are those?" Raph demanded as Donatello methodically attached the metal circles, each no bigger than the pad of his thumb, to the door.

"Micro-explosives. Titanium is highly combustible, you know," Don replied flippantly as he extracted his palm top from his duffel bag.

"Micro-WHATS?! Are you _insane_?" Raph spluttered, fighting to catch the distracted turtle's eye. Donatello ignored his question – Raph wasn't really expecting an answer, anyway – and instead punched a sequence of numbers that only he understood into his palm top. Satisfied, he snagged the heatedly lecturing Raphael's wrist and tugged him in the opposite direction of the door, letting his sibling's barrage of insanity accusations roll off his shell.

For someone who hated being lectured for reckless behaviour, Raph was very good at lecturing others for _their_ reckless behaviour.

Don ducked down behind a heat shield used for experimentation a fair distance from the door, hauling Raph with him. Checking his palmtop, the purple masked turtle confirmed they had thirty-two seconds until detonation. That meant thirty-two seconds until they had to run like hell.

"…and another thing: why do ya carry bombs around with ya in your duffel bag? The same one ya take on missions, patrols and rooftop runs on a daily basis? They could go off at any time and we'd be blown ta smithereens!"

Raphael was still enumerating all of the reasons why Don shouldn't carry explosives on his person, using graphic stories about homemade bombs gone wrong to illustrate his point. It was only when he saw Don check his palmtop for the second time that Raph realized he was being ignored. And if Raphael hated anything, it was being ignored.

The forest green mutant stuck a finger in his brother's face, disregarding Don's calculating look as he growled, "Are ya _listening_ ta me? I'm sayin' that–"

"Raph, stop talking," Don interrupted, not meanly but urgently. Usually, such a brusque brush off would get a rise from the hothead; however, Donatello's serious expression tugged at Raph's tactical mind. They were on a mission, he reminded himself, and it was his responsibility to cooperate with Don to emerge from the laboratory alive. He would have plenty of time to discuss Don's closeted pyromania once they had returned home.

Abandoning his rant, Raphael waited silently for his brother to speak, eyes flickering with focus.

When Don sensed he had his brother's attention, he explained, "Those explosives will detonate in less than twenty seconds and when they do, that door will burn quickly. When the blast wave has subsided, we have to rush through the opening before the fire spreads."

He reached into his bag and removed two navy cloths that looked large enough to wrap around them. Thrusting one at Raph as he draped the other over his own shoulders, Don explained, "These are flame retardant. They'll limit the extent of the burns."

Raphael took the fabric, doing as instructed while Don glanced again at the palmtop. Nine seconds.

"Get ready," Don warned, curling in on himself with the cloak held over his head.

"Whatever ya say, Marvin the Martian," Raph grumbled.

Don didn't have time to ask Raphael how he knew about the cartoon Martian's affinity for explosives as a few seconds later, the blast went off with a jarring force. The facility trembled like it was being ripped from the ground, the initial sound of combustion replaced by a high-pitched ringing in their ears. Despite the distance and the shield, the after-effects of the blast were nearly crippling.

Once the seismic waves had subsided, Donatello shouted "Now!" although neither could hear his voice over the ringing. Gathering up the blanket, Raphael darted out first, weaving around debris with Donatello a few paces behind. They careened toward the flaming door, dragging breath into their burning lungs. Smoke coiled upward, shrouding all but the flame-licked exit.

A cracking sound from overhead broke through the incessant ringing in their ears, causing Don to look upward. He squinted through the billows of smoke, trying to make out the source of the noise but could see nothing through the haze. Though he had no visual proof, Donatello knew the structure's integrity was officially compromised and could come crashing down at any moment.

And they were thirty meters from the door.

"Raph, the place is caving in!" Donatello hollered hoarsely, unsure whether his brother heard him as his warning subsided into a coughing fit. The quick glance Raph gave the ceiling and the burst of speed he put on indicated that he had heard Don. Swallowing his own saliva to coat his parched throat, Don pumped his legs faster to catch up to his brother, who had slightly longer strides.

They were now twenty meters away.

Another disconcerting crack came from above. Fifteen meters. His eyes were full of tears, blurring his vision into a brilliant gleam of red and orange. Ten. He could hardly breathe for the smoke. Five. Raph was just ahead of him, silhouetted by the flames.

There was another crack from above and something solid came crashing down on Donatello's head, sending him face first to the floor.

First, there was the throbbing pain from the connection with his skull. Then, there was the burning agony of his shoulder that caused him to scream.

Raph whirled around at the almost inhuman sound and saw his brother upon the ground, pinned by a thick metal pipe and struggling to free himself. He darted back and knelt by Donatello's form, reaching under the pipe to hoist it off of him. Seconds later he drew back with a shout as the skin on his palms flared with pain; the metal was blistering hot to the touch.

_Okay, I can't touch it. How do I get it off him? I need another idea, another…angle._

Don's words from earlier echoed in Raphael's mind and he glanced around frantically for inspiration. He caught sight of a rod a few feet away, his mind quickly forming a plan. Snatching it from its place on the floor, Raph stuck it under the pipe and braced it against Don's shell, using the leverage to heave the tube off his fallen brother. He helped the semi-conscious turtle to his feet, slinging Donatello's arm over his shoulder as he turned to face the door.

_Here goes nothing._

Taking most of Donatello's weight, Raphael launched himself through the fire-framed door.

TMNTMNTMNT

"Ow ow ow! Hey, Leo, be careful with that!" Mikey twisted away from his eldest brother's hands, clutching his bicep protectively.

Leo exhaled in exasperation, lowering the needle and thread he had so meticulously prepared. "Mikey, you need stitches. That spot where the security bot grazed you is pretty deep and I want it to heal as well as possible. It'll be over soon, I promise."

Mikey regarded Leo distrustfully, seeming to consider whether or not his brother's intentions were malicious. Finally, he surrendered his wounded arm with a dramatic sigh. "_Alright_. But I had _better_ be getting ice cream after this!"

"Would ya shut your trap, already? I'm tryin' ta concentrate over here."

Raphael looked up momentarily from his work on the now fully conscious Donatello's injuries. The burns scattered over Don's legs and arms were minor, but those on the bottoms of his feet and across his right shoulder where the metal pipe had landed required serious treatment. After soaking his burns in cold water for a half hour under his brothers' supervision, Don had been escorted to the infirmary and settled into a chair. His feet had already been attended to and the purple banded turtle was now bowed over on his chair to provide better access to his shoulder as Raph gently cleaned the wound.

"Well ex_-_cuuuuuuuuse_ me, _Mr. PMS. I didn't know your time of the month was approaching so quickly," Michelangelo teased, craning his neck to get a better view of his brother's reaction. Without a word Leo jerked Mikey back into place, resuming his stitching despite the small squeak his patient emitted.

Raph grit his teeth at the insult, pressing harder than necessary as he dragged the disinfectant over Don's shoulder. This solicited a quiet hiss of pain from Don, at which Raphael immediately let up on the wound.

"Sorry, Don," he apologized, the flash of temper dying. Don made a little noise to indicate he was forgiven, his throat still too raw from the smoke to speak comfortably.

Ensuring his last swipe was very light, Raph discarded the swab, retrieving the burn ointment from the table. He slathered the cool substance on Donatello's shoulder, the fatigued and battle-worn turtle humming in relief.

Unable to suppress a smile, Raph asked casually, "Feels nice, yeah?"

"Mhmmm…" Donatello replied inarticulately and Raph released a laugh, continuing his ministrations.

Glancing across the room, Raph watched Leo make the final knot on the energetic turtle's stitches and snip the thread. After a close inspection, Leo nodded in satisfaction, stepping back from Michelangelo.

"Okay, Mike, you're free to go. But remember to take it easy on that arm of yours. That means no–"

"Sheesh, Leo! What am I gonna do that'll mess up my arm tonight? All I want to do is get some grub and lay on the couch for the next week!" Mikey cut across the impending lecture and hopped off the examination table. The frown of disapproval he received, a precursor to any Leonardo Lecture, made Michelangelo flash his most winning smile to avoid further reprimand, his blue eyes becoming impossibly wide.

When this didn't receive a smile, Mikey made a quick subject change to draw attention away from his interruption.

"I believe someone mentioned ice cream?"

"That was _you_, Mikey," Leo reminded him with an air of fatigue, although he was smiling now himself.

"C'mon, Fearless, let's get our sugar on!" Mikey crowed, racing out the infirmary door toward sweet ice-cream flavoured freedom.

Leo shook his head and turned back to check on Raph's progress with Donatello. The purple banded turtle's burns were dressed and he was now sitting up comfortably sipping a glass of water. Well, gulping would be more accurate. Thankfully, they had the foresight to bring the whole jug to quench Don's thirst, as he had already downed two glasses and showed no sign of slowing down.

Raph was now treating his own burns, the majority of which were on his feet and hands. Nothing a little ointment and some aspirin couldn't fix.

"You need any help there, Raph?" Leo ventured, taking a step toward his sibling.

Raphael quirked an eye ridge and barely contained a smirk as he replied playfully, "No thanks, mom. I got it."

Leo shot Raph a glare for the jab but he sensed no spite. Satisfied that Raph was alright – his sparkling wit was intact, at least – Leonardo strode over to Donatello, who was still drinking water like it would evaporate if he didn't drink fast enough. He knelt before the purple masked turtle and placed a hand on his brother's kneecap, looking up into his dark eyes.

"Are you feeling okay now, Don? You were pretty out of it earlier," Leo commented, studying Donatello's face for a reaction. The invalid smiled lazily, the pain medication beginning to take effect.

"I'm still a bit dizzy, but I think I'll be alright. You checked for dilated pupils and cleared me to sleep, right?" Donatello wondered, taking another generous drink of water.

"Yes. At this point, sleep is your best option," Leo confirmed, his tone as gentle as it was authoritative.

"Would you like me to help you to bed, Donnie?" the leader asked, rising to his feet and offering a hand. Donatello's gaze flicked from Leo's hand to Raphael, the genius deliberating.

After a few seconds he smiled and shook his head, replying, "I'd like to stay here to make sure Raph does a proper job on his burns. Just because I'm mildly concussed, doesn't mean I'm no longer the local medic."

"I'm doin' just fine over here, brainiac," Raphael interjected as he wrapped his feet with long white bandages. "Besides, I'm the one who fixed ya up, and I did a hell of a job if I do say so myself."

"And you do," Donatello quipped, his smile widening.

Leo grinned, glad both Raph and Don were well enough to engage in their trademark banter. The grin faded a few seconds later as Leo asked, "Are you sure you're alright? Because I can help–"

"Leeeeeee-oooooooooooo! Hurry up, dude!" Mikey called from the distant kitchen.

"Duty calls," Raph teased his eldest brother, finishing up the wrappings on his feet. Leo rolled his eyes affectionately and bid his brothers goodnight, backing from the room.

He hung in the door another moment, reluctant to leave them. Then, another shout from Mikey:

"Hey, Leo! Is tinfoil microwave safe?"

"Oh shell," Leo cursed under his breath as he raced out the door, hoping to stop Mikey from burning down the lair. That was the _last _thing he needed.

Raphael chuckled heartily at Leonardo's predicament, not envying him for even a moment. He'd deal with second degree burns and a loopy Donnie before Mikey any day.

As Raph wrapped up his ointment-slicked hands, Don watched him closely, intrigued by how thorough Raphael was being. His impatient sibling often refused treatment, regardless the severity of his injuries. It showed a new maturity in Raphael, something he had witnessed more than once that evening.

When he had been pinned under the searing pipe, Donatello had been able to do nothing but observe Raphael's actions. Once Raphael had found the pipe was too heavy to be lifted, Donatello feared his brother would continue trying, either hurting himself or taking so long the building would collapse right on top of them. Raph could be stubborn and if ever his strength was challenged, the turtle worked all the harder to prove himself.

It had been a surprise when he had reached over for a rod in the debris and used the leverage to raise the pipe off of Donatello. It was evidence that Raph was just as inventive as his other brothers, something they occasionally forgot.

"Hey, Raph?" Donatello piped up. The red masked turtle grunted to indicate he was listening, although his eyes remained fixed on his bandage work. Unsure how to approach it, Don said tentatively, "Thanks for tonight. Your quick thinking saved my shell. I'm really impressed."

Raphael felt a tiny swell of pride in his chest and despite his attempt to keep his expression composed, an appreciative smile curled the corners of his mouth subtly. Voice softer than expected, he replied, "No need ta thank me for savin' ya, Don. You're my bro. 'Sides, I only thought of it cuz of something ya said."

Don furrowed his brow bemusedly. "Really? What was it?"

"The thing about finding another angle. I dunno, it just kinda jumped out at me and…I knew what ta do. Ya always know what ta say ta me, Don, even when ya ain't sayin' anything."

Raph flexed his freshly wrapped hands to test his range of motion, a bit embarrassed by his admission. Hoping to clear the air, Raph grinned sheepishly and joked, "I guess those brains of yours are startin' ta rub off on me, eh?"

Without a word, Donatello stood and wrapped his good arm around Raph, pressing his face into his shoulder. Squeezing his brother tightly, he mumbled, "You're my hero."

It was muffled by his skin but Raph heard his quiet declaration. He hesitated a second before he reciprocated, directing into the gesture what he couldn't put into words.

_You're mine, too._

* * *

_How did this even happen? I was all "I'll write a quick one-shot!" and 3,002 words later, here we are._  
_Boy do I LOVE Raph and Don moments, they just make me so happy. I think that these two would get along very well, as they have enough in common to do things together while also being so different in character they don't irritate the other. Plus, they're cuuuuuuuuute _:D_  
I hope you enjoyed it, and feel free to provide any comments or feedback! I'd really appreciate it_.


	2. Blink

_Disclaimer: Turtles of any kind are not in my possession. The TMNT are borrowed from Eastman and Laird, as well as the current owners, Nickelodeon._

_Heeeeeeeeeeeeeere's prompt #2 of the alphabet challenge!_

Blink:

The old rat Master halted mid-stride, his soft humming tapering off into silence.

He stared. Blinked. Continued staring.

Master Splinter, intent on getting a fresh cup of tea to accompany his afternoon reading, was passing though the living area with cup in hand when his sons stopped him. Well, they didn't physically stop him – rather, their activity caused him to stop in place, looking on the scene with a mixture of weary confusion and fascination.

From this angle, Master Splinter could see his four sons wrestling in the living room, which was not uncommon. After numerous warnings, he had simply given up on reprimanding them for roughhousing, realizing that one must choose his battles. Master Splinter resolved a decade before to conserve his parental energy for confronting dangerous behaviour, not friendly tussling.

He was relieved to see they had cleared the living room of furniture. Unfortunately, this was the only relief he was given. Indeed, the furniture had been pushed aside to avoid damage; however, the majority of the furniture was turned on its side, draped in blankets to form a barrier on either side of the living area. Even this was not unusual, for Michelangelo was known for creating forts of great proportions in their home on a regular basis – although it was odd for the other three to participate.

No, what made Splinter halt his trek back to his room was the fact that his sons were all coated from head to toe in a rainbow of hues. Multi-colored patches and splatters of neon paint were scattered over the four turtles' skin and shells as well as, he now noticed, the floor and the furniture barricades.

The moment his sons realized they were not alone in the room and they all froze in tableau, Raphael holding Donatello in a headlock while the purple masked brother and Leonardo grasped Michelangelo by an ankle each. This child, he noticed, had substantially more paint on his carapace, although he couldn't speak for the teen's front, as he was plastron down on the ground.

"Sensei," Leonardo was the first to speak, straightening with as much dignity as he could muster with a hot pink smudge above his eye and a bright yellow blotch on his opposite cheek. "We were just, uh…well, Mikey asked us if we wanted to try a new training exercise and, uh…we were intrigued."

"Yeah, Sensei, it's totally legit!" Mikey piped up, grinning toothily at his father. Continuing unabashed by the dubious look the rat gave him, Mikey explained, "You see, I was thinking: What if we got into a fight and the guys were packin' heat? So I thought we should practice dodging bullets but, uh, we couldn't really use real guns or blasters – seriously, I asked Donnie and he said no – so I thought paintball guns would work. They're safe and they won't break anything. It was totally awesome until _Raph _messed everything up–"

"I did not! Ya were askin' for a shot ta the face! Ya smacked me upside the head with that frickin' paintball gun, ya little–"

"Uh, Raph? You're kinda crushing my windpipe," Don gasped in his chokehold, slapping Raph's meaty forearm ineffectively.

"Nuh-uh, brainiac; first ya gotta apologize for shootin' me down the back of the shell! _That _was a dirty move and ya know it!" Raph growled in his ear, tightening his hold.

"You were sprawled out on the floor, completely defenseless; I'm nothing if not an opportunist," Donatello replied, his voice oozing with self-satisfaction. His smirk morphed into a grimace as Raphael pulled his restrained arm further behind his shell and he croaked, "Raph!"

As he renewed his efforts to free himself, Donatello released the vice grip he had on Mikey's ankle. The instigator took this as his cue to skedaddle, sensing he would be blamed fully for the mess made in the living room if he didn't escape the crime scene.

"Well, if we're all done here, I'll just be going," he began lightly, pulling himself forward on his elbows in an army crawl to draw as little attention to himself as possible. He didn't get far, for Leo still had a hold on his foot and had no intention of allowing his baby brother to sneak out of this punishment. If he was going down, Michelangelo sure as shell would go down with him.

"Not so fast, Mikey. This was _your _idea," Leo reminded him, dragging Mikey back the few inches he had gained. Mikey released a whine and scrabbled at the cement floor for purchase, unable to fight Leo when he was royally pissed.

Master Splinter was silent as his sons bickered among themselves, behaving like they had as children. Admittedly, he had occasionally found their small spats amusing when they were young; however, the novelty of brotherly bickering had worn off many years ago. The mature father was uncertain exactly what to do for a moment and continued to stare as the two youngest now turned on each other, Don indicting Mikey of stealing his ammo while the accused denied the claims. He turned the blame onto Raph, who explained, "Alright, I took 'em, but only cuz Leo wouldn't agree to an alliance unless I gave him some of your paint balls."

"Traitor!" Donatello bellowed.

"Cheater!" Mikey screeched, stabbing a finger at Leo, "I _knew _it! You cheated!"

"It's called strategy, Mikey."

"No, it's called being a Liar Liar Pants on Fire!"

"Oh yeah? At least _I _don't scream like a girl–"

"Enough!" Splinter interrupted, the chatter immediately falling away to leave the lair in a thick silence. The four turtles stared warily at their father, prepared for a scolding and a punishment only a father and Sensei could come up with.

It never came. Their argument was simply too…ridiculous to warrant a proper lecture and punishment. He really didn't know if he could keep a straight face if he had to say, "Donatello, you are not permitted to shoot paintballs down Raphael's shell" or "Leonardo, when Michelangelo claims he has a training exercise that involves paintball guns, do not indulge him". These were really rules he didn't think he had to lay out.

Praying for the fourth time in the past six minutes that he could have one day of peace, Splinter just said tiredly, "Please clean up the living area. Once that is done, all of you must shower. I will be confiscating your armoury until further notice."

With that, Splinter gracefully strode to where the guns had been abandoned and gathered them into his arms, balancing his teacup with little difficulty. He then went off to his bedroom and slid the door closed, heaving a sigh once he was separated from the main area.

After more than a decade of ninjutsu training, he had thought his sons were above petty fights and paintballs wars in the living room. Apparently, he was mistaken. Despite his sons' focus and dedication when training, they were just as susceptible to the nonsense of teenage boys. He now realized that he really shouldn't have been so surprised by the scene he had just witnessed; in fact, he should expect such things. Still, the father in him was a wistful dreamer who misguidedly believed that at the estimated age of seventeen his boys were capable of conducting themselves with maturity and dignity while spending time together. Laughable dreams, really.

Master Splinter comforted himself with the conclusion that this was merely a phase, one that with time and growth would pass. Then again, Casey Jones was living proof that not all men grown up. He would not consider this possibility.

Master Splinter deposited the newest additions in the box of confiscated toys, lying innocently among the whoopee cushions, fake bugs and self-firing laser pens. He returned to his table and knelt upon a small pillow, setting the teacup down as he scanned the text for his place.

Before he could relax into the rhythm of reading, the near constant murmur of voices from the other side of his bedroom door rose substantially. Seconds later, a paint ball connected with the screen, exploding in a fluorescent green burst on the white canvas.

That settled it. There would be no paint of any kind in the lair ever again.

_I had so much trouble coming up with an idea for this one. Then, this came to me and I couldn't even handle it _XD_ I enjoyed it waaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy too much.  
Being a father of four can't be easy, especially when they have the tendency of acting like children when they do things together. I won't deny that they are mature and collected when need be but you can't tell me they never act silly. Four boys alone in an underground lair with little to do but train during daylight=madness.  
Thank you for reading, please review!_


	3. Crayon

_Disclaimer: The TMNT are not mine. They belong to Nickelodeon, and were created by Eastman and Laird.  
Here is the next instalment of the A-Z Challenge. I'm a fan of brotherly interactions, and the morning following a drunken evening seems the perfect opportunity for this. This one took a little longer than anticipated but I hope you enjoy it. Please review!_

* * *

The shuffle of feet and a baritone rumble of curses alerted Leonardo to his sibling's presence. It was clearly Raphael, only the second brother to abandon his bed that morning despite the late hour. Even at 11:30, Donatello and Michelangelo were still snoozing heavily in their own rooms, sleeping off the night's festivities.

Around nine o'clock the previous night, Casey Jones had graced their subterranean home bearing beer, two party pizzas and his unique type of camaraderie, consisting principally of good humoured swearing and fighting with anything that moved. Two twelve packs later, Don, Raph, Mikey and Casey were all at varied degrees of intoxication. Only Leo remained sober throughout the evening, drinking one can out of courtesy more than any real like for the beverage. The other four were now acutely experiencing the effects of the alcohol, unable to roll out of bed – except for Raphael. While he pitied their case, Leo wouldn't deny that he was keen to take advantage of the unusual silence and read a new novel lent to him by April a few weeks ago. How often did he really get to sit down and enjoy himself for a solid three hours without interruption? Leonardo would be a fool to squander this opportunity.

He waited to address Raph until he appeared in the kitchen, lowering his novel as he made a mental note of his place on the page.

"Good morning, Raph," Leo greeted his brother, turning his head to face him. As his eyes alighted on the newcomer Leo stilled, his facial features frozen in their placid look save for the fractional widening of his eyes. His attention was effortlessly drawn to Raph's plastron, which had been bare when Leo had headed off to bed early that morning. Since he had last seen his brother, it appeared that a gaggle of primary school children had ambushed Raph with a handful of art supplies. Crude stick figures, insults of a brotherly nature, animal sketches and artistic curlicues in a rainbow of hues now decorated the plates of his shell; drawn in crayon, no less. At the top of his shell just below his collarbone were the tags of the two graffiti artists who had mistaken Raphael's plastron for a canvas: Michelangelo and Casey.

Fighting to hide his amusement lest he have his face acquainted with Raphael's fist, Leonardo asked innocently, "How was your night?"

A most appropriate response in the form of a growl ripped from Raph's throat, answering Leo's idle question better than any words. He staggered toward his eldest brother and stopped inches away, his movements surprisingly sharp in spite of his throbbing headache. He leaned in so they were practically beak to beak and threatened in a voice rusted by dehydration and sleep, "Not another word, if ya want ta keep yer windpipe."

"I didn't say anything," Leo defended, the small hint of a smile bordering his mouth.

"Yeah, but ya were gonna. Ya had that dumbass look in yer eye," Raphael countered as he straightened up and folded his arms loosely across his chest. Even this couldn't wipe the rapidly spreading grin from Leo's face, and he was willing to face Raph's wrath if it meant he could enjoy this moment a bit longer.

"You want me to put on some coffee?" Leo asked, pointing to the dormant coffeemaker over his shoulder as he tensed to stand.

"No thanks, I can get it," Raph replied as he backed toward the machine, already feeling more alert after taking a shot at Leo. It wasn't a good day until he had made fun of Leo at least once.

Leo turned his shell on his brother before he reached the counter, finding his place in his book swiftly. He was only able to read another couple of pages before another set of sluggish footfalls punctured the relative silence of the kitchen. Based on the deliberate slapping of foot on tile, it was definitely Michelangelo. Even hung over, he loved to make his entrance known.

"Good morning, Mike," Leo said as the sea green turtle rounded the corner and almost crashed into the fridge whilst throwing a hand over his eyes to block out the bright kitchen lights. Crusty eyed and groaning lowly, Michelangelo gurgled a response that resembled an Orkish obscenity rather than a salutation.

The previous night's drinking game had truly tested Mikey's limits, causing him to drink far beyond his normal capacity. To everyone's surprise, the moderate drinker managed to keep his head and stay upright despite the large volume of liquor he was consuming. Then came the Fireball. A couple shots left him twirling around the room in a "Turtles do it better" apron and a pair of lens-less glasses. This wouldn't have been so odd had he not been serenading a mop with "Lady Marmalade" in falsetto. How he knew all of the lyrics and the choreography, Leo wasn't interested to find out. His only concern was whether or not Mikey had retched during the night and left a present for him to clean up.

Mikey _did_ look rather miserable, slouching so he was a quarter of his below-average height and sporting a small trail of drool from the corner of his mouth to his chin. His vibrant bandana hanging limply from his neck and the dark circles beneath his eyes really completed the alcoholic vagabond look he was currently working.

"Jeez, Mike, ya look like hell," Raph remarked needlessly, turning from the now bubbling coffee pot. The moment Mikey's eyes shifted to the doodles scattered all over Raphael's plastron, his eyes regained their lively twinkle. A wicked smile spread his features, the fond memories returning to him on the wings of eagles.

"Well, we can't all be as pretty as you, Raphie," Mikey crooned as he slid into a chair at the kitchen table, a rogue snicker escaping him. Raph's lips curled in a scowl at the gibe, his amusement fleeting.

"It was yer damn fault, chucklehead," Raphael began, taking a menacing step forward.

Leo deemed this the opportune moment to cut in, before Raph had the chance to get riled up and Mikey had the chance to think of a snappy one liner to retaliate with. His tone reconciliatory, he reminded Raph gently, "I _did _overhear you makinga bet with Mikey just as I was going off to bed. I can only assume this was the punishment for the loser."

"I challenged him to a push up contest. Figured there was no way I could lose cuz I work out way more'n him. Plus, I didn't know crayon was so damn hard to wash off!" Raph defended, picking at a drawing of a purple duck on a speedboat with his nail. "How in the hell did he beat me?"

"Well, Master Splinter makes Mikey do push-ups when he's unfocused in practice and when he's slacking off…and sometimes when he's just too hyper. All that practice gives his excellent form and endurance. Heck, even _I _make Mikey go for a run or do push ups when he's driving me nuts!"

"So it's _yer_ fault he's so damn good at 'em!" Raphael accused, stabbing a finger of blame toward his blue masked brother while Mikey grinned impishly across the table at him. Leonardo bit back a sharp retort, knowing Raph was never a morning person. Coupled with the "morning after" feeling, Raphael was in a positively foul mood and prone to lashing out at others –

_Wait. How is that any different than normal?_

Leo decided it was poor form to voice this thought when Raph was no doubt nursing a horrible headache, so he kept it to himself. Despite the fact it was _comedy gold_. Instead, he smiled sympathetically and switched to "Mama Leo" mode, asking, "How's your head? Do you need an acetaminophen?"

Raph grunted in reply, waving his big brother's concerns off while Michelangelo pushed himself off the table, heading toward the cupboard in search of sustenance. A bang and three crashes later, he had a bowl and was filling it with multi-colored cereal, each ping causing Raph to recede further and further down into his shell. He then reached for the fridge, snagging the milk jug and popping the cap off with one thumb to pour a generous helping of milk onto his cereal. Once seated on the lip of the counter, Mikey grabbed the ladle hanging behind him and began munching on his breakfast by the spoonful. All the while, Leo and Raph watched him with a revolted sort of captivation.

It was only when Raph made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat that Mikey paused in his consumption, the ladle suspended partway to his mouth. "What?"

"I don' know how ya can eat after last night. I can barely stomach watchin' ya," Raphael remarked, shaking his head at his brother.

"The feeling is mutual, Raph. I can barely _look_ at _you_ without tossin' my cookies," Mikey replied, slurping up another spoonful of cereal. Before Raph could say anything, Donatello dragged himself into the brightly lit kitchen, hissing and scrunching his eyes against the light.

"Good morning, Donnie," Leo greeted, hoping that by ignoring Mikey's previous comment Raph would forget about it. While he waited for Don to gather his wits, he chanced a glance at Raphael to gauge how effective his subject change was. The answer was not at all; Raph was still glaring at Mikey like he could kill him if he stared long enough. Knowing Raph, it was quite possible.

"Morning, Leo," Don rasped, rubbing at both eyes with his clenched fists to rid them of sleep, like a young child just getting out of bed. Frowning in slight confusion, Don pointed over his shoulder, asking, "Did anyone see Casey hanging upside-down from the back of the couch? He looks dead."

This seemed to catch Raph's interest, for he looked away from Mikey and wondered, "Really? He's passed out?"

"Yeah. By the looks of it, he won't be awake for another few hours," Donatello responded, not seeming too concerned about their human friend's state. In contrast to Don's gentle indifference, Raph's face broke open into a wolfish grin, his demeanour taking a turn for the cunning.

"Is that so? Well, I guess I'll be repayin' him for the decoratin' job on my shell," Raph drawled, pushing off the counter. Quick to remind Mikey of his transgressions, he whirled on his baby brother and threatened, "Don't think that means yer off the hook. I'll get ya later, when ya ain't expectin' it."

This would have garnered a reaction from Mikey if it weren't for Leo's unexpected reaction when Raph turned his shell on him to threaten Mikey. The blue masked turtle's Leo's eyes widened and he promptly clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. Raphael heard the strained noise and glanced over his shoulder at Leo, who feigned a yawn to justify having a hand over his mouth. Shrugging carelessly, Raph sauntered slowly from the kitchen, giving Mikey a perfect view of his receding shell.

The words "#1 Asshole" were emblazoned in bright red across Raph's shell in Donatello's unmistakeable writing.

It was all Mikey could do to stuff a fist in his mouth to contain the giggles that threatened to trickle out. Leo's shoulders were trembling slightly with suppressed laughter, his lips pressed into a firm line to maintain an appearance of calm for Raph's sake while the leader silently fell to pieces. For his part, Donatello was deadpan when Raph was present; however, once the hothead was out of earshot, he allowed a grin to break over his features.

"Duuuuuude, how'd ya get him?" Mikey demanded between gasps for breath.

Don shrugged nonchalantly and crossed to the coffeepot as he answered, "It wasn't too difficult, he passed out shortly before you did in his hammock. I found the paint for the Shellcycle in the corner of his room, and it went from there."

Leo was torn between standing up for his defenseless brother and congratulating Don on a prank well executed. It was simple and sneaky, not to mention enjoyable for the entire family (well, except maybe Splinter. And Raphael, of course.) Finally, Leonardo settled on a question to avoid choosing sides. "What did he do to you?"

"Our favourite brother had the nerve to cheat in our game," Don explained, pouring himself a mug of coffee, "You just can't make up new rules in Chinese checkers, it's an established game!"

"Is that all? Don't you think that's a bit excessive, Don?" Leo commented, sipping his now lukewarm tea.

An evil smile slowly took possession of Don's face, his expression disconcerting as he replied, "Perhaps. But shell, it was awesome!"

* * *

_I don't hate Raphael. Honestly. It's just hilarious to mess with him _XD  
_I hope you enjoyed this, I will try to update as soon as I can! Please review!_


	4. Dimple

_Disclaimer: I don't own the TMNT, they are the intellectual property of Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird. I'm just borrowing them for my personal amusement.  
Two updates in less than a week? What what?! Here are my thoughts on what it would have been for Splinter with the turtles as babies. I've seen turtle tot stories and others that depict the series of events immediately following the mutation. But I've always wondered what happened between the two periods of time? This is a reflection on 2k3 Splinter's transition into parenthood because it couldn't have been easy going from being a pet rat to a father of four. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Splinter sighed as he received a face full of turtle shell for the third time in a row, courtesy of the infant turtle he was trying to clean.

Ah, the glamorous life of a parent.

Six months had rolled by since his mutation and bath time was still a new experience for the anthropomorphic rat. As a creature who groomed himself, having to clean others was a new concept. Since he had appointed himself their caregiver, Splinter found his waking hours occupied by the needs and humours of the four turtle babies. From the moment he found the tiny creatures in distress, Splinter had felt a deep sense of responsibility for their welfare. This was what caused the mutated rat to come to their aid and eventually take the turtles into his care, although he would not deny it was initially a source of distraction from the untimely end of his Master Yoshi. With little thought, Splinter adopted the infants as his own kittens.

Unfortunately, these baby turtles did not behave like any rat kittens he had ever seen. In fact, most of their behaviour was like that of human babies – small, squishy, pink hairless creatures the pet rat had only seen in passing when his Master had taken him for walks among the people. The mannerisms were remarkably like those of human babies – except their habit of retracting into their shells when startled or tired. At least, this is what they _tried_ to do. The fact was unlike their smaller counterparts, their limbs were far too long to tuck into their shell. Splinter was tickled when they would try anyway, finding the stubborn indifference demonstrated by the baby turtles cute.

Speaking of stubborn, the dark green turtle was continuing to evade Splinter's attempts to clean him as if his life depended on it. The dark green turtle hated bathing the most of all the turtles, wiggling, squirming and twisting out of reach when approached with a damp washcloth. _Kuro,_ as Splinter had nicknamed him for his dark green pigment, was feisty even in infancy. In fact, whatever Splinter wanted him to do the emerald baby would refuse without fail. As the rebel of the pack, _Kuro _would fight Splinter to the end of his energy if only to establish his sense of authority.

On the contrary, the smallest, freckled turtle loved bath time. Whenever the washcloth was presented, the tiny turtle began giggling uncontrollably, waving his arms as if to grab the item. Of course, this was his reaction to practically everything that Splinter brought forth. The light green infant loved anything that involved being close to Splinter, whether it was bath time, bed time, play time or any other opportunity to snuggle. Of all the baby turtles, this one sought his attention most, craving physical affection indiscriminately. The only time the bubbly baby really cried was when he was far from Splinter, which the rat avoided whenever possible if only to avoid the crying. This was why the smallest turtle presently had a hold on the fur of Splinter's haunches, wobbling back and forth on his uncertain feet.

Freckles – as he called the small one – was simultaneously babbling nonsense rather animatedly to the olive turtle over his shoulder.

The olive turtle, while longer than the rest of the babies, wasn't quite as large as _Kuro _and was much less resistant. This didn't mean he was easier to handle, though. Brown Eyes, as the olive child was aptly nicknamed for his enormous chocolate coloured eyes, was extremely curious. Splinter was constantly removing foreign objects from the child's hands (and mouth), most recently a coil of wires that had washed up near their home.

He was also very vocal and would have been chattering away with Freckles was he not currently sucking his thumb. This was odd in itself, as to Splinter's limited knowledge, only animals with fur liked to suck on things. Perhaps this, Splinter mused, was another subtle emergence of humanity in the small turtle.

_Kuro _was resistant, Freckles clingy and Brown Eyes too curious for his own good. In spite of this, the most difficult to keep track of was arguably the grass green turtle.

Though he was less than six months old, the tiny mutant was quick to learn and almost too fast for Splinter. He was the first to roll over and the first to crawl, always one step ahead of the other babies in development. This one Splinter dubbed Speedy, both for his quick learning and his swiftness when crawling.

Speedy broke the quiet with an uncontrolled squawk, his vocalization echoed in kind by Freckles, who tottered and landed on his rump. Instead of bursting into tears at the sudden jolt, the tiniest turtle merely gurgled and continued his conversation with no one in particular.

All of the turtles had begun making noises that resembled speech, mimicking Splinter's dialogue. Shortly following his adaptation of the various tongues of his Master, the rat had made a habit of speaking or singing to the babies. For reasons unknown to him, Splinter had very rapidly picked up Master Yoshi's languages, manipulating them with unprecedented facility. He was unsure of the difference between dialects but could form fluid sentences and make connections between the Japanese and English words. Often he would use both languages in a single sentence, the soft, lilting Japanese melding with the harsh, consonant-riddled English.

"Stop, _akachan_," Splinter called to the darkest turtle in his pidgin language, removing his gaze from Speedy. Thankfully, the troublesome turtle was distracted by Freckles's toes, touching them before fingering his own in puzzlement.

"_Chīsana ichi_, little one," Splinter murmured in encouragement, catching the dark green turtle by the shell as he attempted another escape. His motions practiced, he ran the now icy washcloth over the baby turtle's skin, beginning with his sleek head. The infant writhed in discomfort, making fussing noises as Splinter wiped the grime from his smooth skin, reaching the small grooves in his shell. Realizing his struggle was futile, the baby turtle finally surrendered to his anxiety and released a shriek of discontent, transforming into a limp, wailing mess.

"Shhh, don't cry," Splinter murmured as he brushed the fabric over the final stretch of the baby's skin and set it aside to take the crying infant fully into his arms. He hushed the child, rubbing a paw up and down his shell and cradling his head as he whispered condolences.

Upon seeing this, Freckles began to squirm on the floor, sensing his caretaker's attention was not exclusively his. A whimper escaped the child's throat, his face scrunching and the ragged beginnings of a howl building in his chest.

Before the waterworks could start, he was scooped up by a furry paw and pressed to a warm, furry body, the comforting words soothing the child as quickly as he was riled. Now with two babies tucked to his chest, Splinter slowly rose to his feet, carrying them the short distance to his nest. With the utmost care, he laid the turtle infants down upon the soft pile of reed, grass and fabric he had scavenged to create a bed for five. Freckles immediately stopped fussing, his eyelids drooping as his tiny features contorted in a yawn.

_Kuro_ glared up at the rat for a few seconds before he rolled himself over with no small amount of difficulty. Ever stubborn, the turtle tucked his head in another vain attempt to retract into his shell. Splinter's muzzle stretched into a smile, one of many new sensations he was adjusting to. As a simple rat, smiles and laughter were not something he ever felt the urge to do before his mutation. He found he liked the new feeling, especially since it did wonders for the infant turtles.

Satisfied that Freckles was drifting off and _Kuro_ wasn't going anywhere in the next few minutes, Splinter scampered back to where he had left the other two turtles momentarily.

Panic struck Splinter when he was greeted by only one turtle; the olive one was stuck on his shell, rocking up and down as if to sit up. Upon spotting Splinter, Brown Eyes flailed his arms in a signal of distress, his body language unmistakeable: he wanted to be picked up. _Now._ The rat scooped the child into his arms, allowing the olive tot to bury his surprisingly strong fists into Splinter's long grey fur.

With Brown Eyes safe in arms and the other two tucked into his nest, Splinter began his search for the missing baby turtle who he knew could not have travelled far. He may have been Speedy, but there was no way he could have crawled out of the small alcove they lived in; Splinter hadn't turned his back longer than ten seconds. Holding the child in his arms more closely, Splinter walked the perimeter of their enclosure, peeking between pipes and behind empty steel drums for any signs of the fugitive.

It wasn't long before he found the baby turtle, curled up in a square cut out in the wall that lay low to the ground with his legs poking out. The space was hardly wide enough for the tot's shell to fit but its depth accommodated the child's odd dimensions. The hole had clearly once housed some sort of machine but was now bare, a sign of the former occupants' technology. Most likely it had been removed due to the technology becoming obsolete, creating the perfect hiding place for turtle babies.

Splinter shifted the olive turtle to the crook of one elbow, ignoring the sharp pull on his fur from the child's tight grip and reached for the runaway with his free hand. The child was softly chattering to himself in unfamiliar tongues, swinging his pudgy legs and wiggling his tail with little concern for the tight, dark crawl space he had thrust himself into. Closing a paw over the base of the baby's shell, he extracted him from the cranny, receiving a screech of surprise for his efforts. He hoisted the child up and planted him firmly on his waist, his expression stern.

"You cannot hide from me like that," he scolded the baby mildly as if the child understood perfectly what the rat was saying. The baby stared curiously at Splinter as if considering the statement before his mouth stretched into a toothless grin. As he did so, a small dent appeared on either side of his smile: Dimples. Although Splinter didn't have a name to apply to the cute little creases framing the wide lips, they had the desired effect. Splinter found his frown morphing into a smile, which caused the baby turtle to burble and clap his uncoordinated hands twice with glee.

With two turtles in tow, Splinter returned to his nest. When he arrived, the rat was relieved to find not only Freckles but also _Kuro _fast asleep among the nest fibres, their tiny figures swelling and contracting with each breath. This was a blessing, as they were usually the most difficult to put to sleep.

Minding the children in his arms, Splinter clambered up into the nest and lay down on the outer edge where he had made an indent from months of sleeping in the same position. He lowered Speedy, then Brown Eyes into the makeshift bed, curling his body and tail to encircle the infants entirely like a pen.

If any of them attempted to escape during the night, he would feel their movements in an instant. It would not be the first time one of the babies had tried, nor did Splinter believe it would be the last.

As he closed his eyes for slumber, Splinter fretted about how easily Speedy had slipped away. He should have sensed the child's movement, or at the very least caught sight of his little backside sticking out from the small compartment earlier than he had. Splinter, while still calming down from the initial alarm of the lost turtle, realized he was being harsh with himself. Yes, he had momentarily lost sight of a baby but he had quickly and efficiently located and snatched up the runaway. It was a small mistake in perspective, one made more understandable due to Splinter's focus being divided between four children.

_Four. _He sucked in a breath as it struck him yet again how absurd it was for him to have four infants to look after. He, formerly a pet who had no family other than his Master and the woman he loved, was now entrusted with the fate of four small creatures. Four tiny turtles, unique in every way and lacking a mother to guide them.

They were a handful, for certain, especially Speedy; that one was trouble. But in any case, he was an impressive hider. They all were, not to mention their extraordinary strength at such a young age.

As he curled tighter around his charges, Splinter contemplated the children. It was early to speculate but the rat couldn't help thinking, _'Perhaps the children have some ninja potential, after all.'_

* * *

_Yes, corny ending, but I looooooooooooved writing baby turtles!  
Here is the Japanese vocabulary used throughout the chapter:_

Kuro_ – dark_

Akachan _–baby_

Chīsana ichi – _come now_

_Please review!_


	5. Eggs

_Disclaimer: I do not own the TMNT, they belong to Nickelodeon (an associate of Viacom). I merely use the characters for my own amusement.  
A/N: These are the 2k12 turtles, so they're depicted a bit younger than usual. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it! Also, I am tired of editing, so although I'm not totally happy, I'm just going to post it! I hope you like it!_

* * *

"It's time for 'toons! Da dadadadada!" Michelangelo sang to himself as he skipped toward the centre of the lair with a bag of cheese puffs in hand. He was the picture of happiness.

Following an extra practice session with Master Splinter as punishment for riling Raphael, which he still thought was _hilarious_, the young ninja was intent on spending some quality time with the second love of his life, right behind pizza: the television.

"Gonna watch some T.V! Gonna eat something cheesy– "

His improvised song came to an abrupt end when he reached the living room and found his three brothers immersed in _Space Heroes. _Well, Leo was immersed in the show, at least. Raphael was on the couch reading a magazine and Donatello was tinkering with something Michelangelo couldn't see from this angle.

His shoulders slumped in disappointment and an irritated groan pushed past his lips. This was an unforeseen circumstance; usually his brothers behaved like clockwork. Almost every day at this time, Raphael was engaged in his mid-afternoon argument with Leo while Donatello worked on something science-y in his lab and made a dork of himself texting April. He hadn't anticipated this brothers settling peaceably in the living room to spend time together.

It was downright unacceptable!

Seconds following his deflation, Mikey perked up, deciding to remain positive. There was still a chance he could watch his cartoons this afternoon. He'd just have to tap into his annoying-little-brother-powers and bother them so much they'd have no choice but to leave!

'_Sometimes my ideas are so good, I even amaze myself!'_

"Hey dudes, whatcha doin'?" Mikey greeted, expecting a friendly response from his calm brothers.

No dice.

"Oh. Hi, Mikey," Don replied distractedly, alternating his gaze between the TV screen and what Mikey could now see was a broken T-Phone in his hands. While a lacklustre reply, it was the epitome of politeness compared to Raphael and Leonardo's replies. The former grunted carelessly from behind his motorcycle magazine and the latter swiftly hushed the two youngest brothers, riveted by the daring travails of Captain Ryan and his crew. Presently, Dr. Mindstrong was explaining something scientific and boring to the heroic Captain that Mikey wasn't in the least interested in hearing.

Mikey rested his elbows on the back of the cement bench and peered over Donatello's shoulder to observe his brother's work, intrigued by how deftly Don could wrap wire endings around each other with his massive fingers. He waited a few beats before he asked, "What's wrong with the T-Phone? Did one of your experiments explode and break it while you were distracted by your video chat with April again?"

"No!" Don defended hotly, his cheeks flaring despite his conviction. "And that was only one time!"

Michelangelo hummed in agreement, although his raised brows indicated his doubt. Ignoring the silent accusation, Donatello explained, "Raph decided it would be a good idea to use his T-Phone as a hockey puck."

"'Indestructible', you said. 'Impossible to break', you told us," Raphael drawled from his seat, lifting his eyes from an article on shock brakes. Allowing the corner of his lips to pull upward in a smirk, he joked, "What can I say? I like a challenge."

"See, Raph? This is why we can't have nice things!" Mikey scolded his older brother mildly. While he didn't understand _what exactly_ it was Donatello did when he created complicated technology, he understood the time and effort his brother put in as well as the effect Donnie's inventions had on their living situation. The least they could do is not break them by being reckless…well, at least not on purpose. Despite his efforts to be careful, Michelangelo was still the cause of the majority of Don's repair list.

"You are an insufferable Neanderthal," Donatello grumbled at Raph's remark, returning his attention to the object in his hands. He wanted nothing more than to finish this inconvenient repair and get back to his own projects. Unfortunately, Raph wasn't through tormenting his brainy brother, who to his glee was almost as temperamental as he. As Don's tongue poked through his tooth gap in concentration, Raphael dug into him, "I did you a favour, Donnie: now you can improve the durability of the design."

"I'd rather improve your attitude," Donatello shot back with a sharp glance, feeding the flickering flame that was slowly building inside of Raphael. The more people reacted to his gibes, the more he wanted to push them.

Michelangelo sensed the tension that crackled between his brothers and feared that they would have a prolonged argument right here and now. This would not only cause awkwardness for the entire family but, more importantly, ruin any chance of watching cartoons. It was up to Mikey to break the tension.

"Chill, dudes. Let's just be nice to each other, 'kay?" Mikey suggested idealistically, smiling his full wattage at each brother in turn.

And just like that, the slowly escalating argument between Raph and Don lost its momentum, falling by the wayside. Neither Raphael nor Donatello really felt like arguing and it was pointless to fight, anyway.

Donatello redirected the conversation, addressing his youngest brother. "Is there anything I can do for you, Mikey?"

A frown appearing on his face, Michelangelo asked, "Why do you always assume I want something?"

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe because you always do," Raph cut in, his magazine now completely forgotten.

"Guys! It's getting to the best part!" Leo practically whined from his seat on the cushion directly before the television. He could barely hear the sub-par dialogue of his favourite cartoon over his brothers' exchange. The three fell silent just as the suave Captain Ryan was revealed to have an illegitimate alien hybrid son, now in his mid-teens.

"How could this have happened, Captain?" Crankshaw demanded, his voice rising in panic.

A single manly tear trickled down the great Captain's cheek as he replied morosely, "I fell in love with a woman I could never have." He bowed his head and closed his eyes as the screen began to ripple with the first signs of a flashback. The scene depicted the blooming love affair between Captain Ryan and a young alien female amid prejudices and violence; a classic love story, if ever there was one.

As he watched the flashback, Mikey's mind began to whir feverishly, inspiration slamming into him with the force of a train car. Dr. Prankenstein, a trickster of infamous proportions, had a brilliant, wicked plan; one that could only be carried out by a Master.

With a practiced look of innocence, Michelangelo asked, "How did they have a baby?"

The reaction to his casual question was instant. Leonardo pried his gaze from his precious cartoon to gawk at Michelangelo, Raphael tensed noticeably but otherwise remained still and Donatello slowly lowered the T-Phone, reluctantly raising wide eyes to his youngest brother. The air was thick with unspoken discomfort, only the sounds of the commercial break holding the silence at bay.

Growing impatient as the silence stretched on, Mikey widened his baby blues to an impossible size and allowed his gaze to move over each of his brothers.

Donatello was the first to speak, and his voice cracked as he asked delicately, "What do you mean, Mikey?"

"I _mean_ how did Captain Ryan and that alien chick have a baby?" Mikey repeated.

"You've gotta be _kidding me!_" Raph groaned, grabbing his magazine and swiftly hiding behind it as if this would reverse the effects of Mikey's question.

Leo, while equally disturbed, was far more receptive to Mikey's seemingly innocuous question. His voice uncharacteristically subdued, he asked, "Mikey, did Master Splinter have _'The Talk'_ with you yet?"

Mikey blinked, his mouth going slack as he contemplated the words. Seconds later, he scrunched up his face and asked, "What 'Talk'?"

"Oh boy," was all Don muttered, sharing a look with Leo.

"_You know_," began Leo, "The birds and the bees…? Uh_…_when two people, you know, um…_'do it'_?"

Another pause as Michelangelo considered this. Then: "No idea where you're going with this, dude."

"C'mon Mikey, you've heard about it: the dirty, the nasty, the deed, making the beast with two backs–"

"Thank you, Raphael, that's enough," Leo cut in, his cheeks coloring slightly at Raph's plethora of synonyms.

When Mikey showed no sign of understanding, Donatello explained more clearly, "They're talking about sexual intercourse as a means of reproduction, Mikey. You _have _spoken to Splinter about that, right?"

"Yeeeeeeeeaaaaaaah**no**," Mikey droned.

"Never mind, then," Leo interrupted quickly, turning back to his show in hopes the subject would be dropped.

"Just a second, Leo. There's nothing wrong with Mikey's curiosity," Donatello piped up, displeased with the abrupt way his blue masked brother terminated the (admittedly awkward) conversation.

"Yeah, Leo," Raphael piped up, a grin creeping into his tone, "What's the harm in a little curiosity?"

Raph held little personal interest in explaining puberty and its results to his youngest brother. In all honesty, the though was rather unpleasant to dwell upon. It was bad enough to hear the talk from his own father, let alone relate it to his loud-mouthed, questioning little brother. However, Raphael made it his mission in life to get under Leonardo's skin at each and every opportunity, and this was a mighty big opportunity that Raph would be foolish to pass up.

"Uh, well…" Leo trailed off, sensing he was outnumbered. Normally he would remain firm in his stance despite the contradictions of his brothers, but the combination of Don's disapproval, Raph's Cheshire cat grin and Mikey's enormous blue eyes broke his resolve.

With a defeated sigh, Leo responded, "Nothing, I guess."

"Then stop being such a prude and turn off your dumb _Space Heroes,_" Raphael commanded, hoping to annoy his brother enough to get a reaction. Leonardo took the bait and sucked in a breath to retaliate, but Don was quicker.

"Leo, as leader it's your responsibility to address the questions and concerns of your team. _Even_ if they make you feel uncomfortable." Donatello glanced toward their orange masked brother, who to his credit had remained entirely serious amid Raphael's absurd outbursts and Leonardo's overdramatic reaction to the subject. Emboldened by Raph's –albeit selfish – support, Don pressed on, "Mikey has the right to understand our bodies so he can cope with the changes we are all undergoing."

The turtle had a point. In fact, he had many good points. This didn't stop Leo from shifting his eyes from Michelangelo back to the television longingly, clearly experiencing an internal dilemma.

His impatience getting the best of him, Raph cut in, "Give it up, Lamenardo! You've already seen this one. At the end Captain Ryan throw his evil son into an active volcano on Planet Inferno!"

Surprised by Raphael's detailed spoiler, Mikey asked, "How did you know–?"

"Doesn't matter!" Raph interrupted a bit too quickly. "The point _is_ that Leo doesn't have the shell to talk about sex."

This struck a nerve. Expression pinched in a show of disapproval, the leader pointedly flicked off the TV and pivoted on his rear, shuffling forward to sit before his brothers. He did not honour Raphael's insult with a retort, instead turning to Mikey with a look of benevolence. Sporting a cross between a smile and a pained grimace, Leo said primly, "Alright, Mikey. What do you want to know?"

The orange masked turtle thoughtfully stroked his chin and vaulted over the back of the couch to land squarely on his backside, tucking his legs up. After a few seconds of chin stroking, head scratching and humming to himself, Mikey's eyes lit up with an idea. His siblings mentally braced themselves, expecting the worst.

"Okay, how do people make the babies? Are there like…special parts or something?" he asked, all too brightly. The three visibly relaxed, relieved that the question wasn't as out there as anticipated.

As the expert on mutant turtle anatomy, Donatello took the reins on this particular answer.

"You're on the right track, Mikey. There are special body parts – called sexual organs – that enable animals and humans to reproduce. Although we are turtles, our mutation has given us distinctly human characteristics. Some of these have entered into our physical anatomy, namely our sexual organs. We are similar to human males in the sense that we have principal organs such as the penis – technically the phallus in freshwater turtles – as well as the prostate, vas deferens and scrotum, which are principally human features."

Donatello was beginning to ramble, and Mikey shuffled in his seat, glancing covertly at the clock.

"Unlike regular turtles," Don unabashedly continued, "we do not have a cloaca, a multipurpose opening used for excretory and reproductive purposes. Our penises are also more human in appearance, with the exception of the wider, arrow-head tip. This is the organ through which the sperm leaves the body to fertilize the eggs."

When Don paused for breath in his explanation, he suddenly noticed the looks his audience was giving him: Mikey's expression had glazed over; Leo's forehead was wrinkled with discomfort, his eyes wide and frightened; and Raphael looked disappointed with Donatello's scientific explanation.

"Ugh. Way to make stuff sound _boring_, Donnie," Raph complained. Leo quickly shot him a glare at the remark, worried that if he didn't, Don would go off in a huff, leaving him and Raph to educate Mikey. He would much rather let Don handle this talk than Raphael, who would no doubt have a more lewd version of Don's story.

As if Raphael hadn't said anything, Mikey echoed with a confused frown, "Eggs? What do eggs have to do with babies?"

"Egg is the term applied to the female sex gamete," Donatello rhymed off effortlessly. The word "gamete" seemed to turn Mikey off completely and he cast a lost look at his two oldest siblings.

Stepping in to avoid Raphael's response, Leonardo simplified, "What Don means is that there are two things you need to mix together in order to make a baby: eggs, which come from girls; and sperm, which comes from boys."

Mikey made a sound of comprehension and Leonardo couldn't help but feel a spark of pride at being able to help his younger brother. Unfortunately, it didn't last.

With a wolfish grin that showed all his teeth, Raph quipped, "It seems you _do_ know what you're talking about."

Leo blushed self-consciously at the gibe while Mikey mulled over this explanation. A brief moment later, he remarked, "Eggs and sperm are dumb names. They should be called eggs and bacon, cuz they go good together!"

Leonardo, Donatello and Raphael all merely stared at their bubbly brother, unsure what would be considered an appropriate response to this statement. One thing was certain: breakfast would never be the same.

"Dudes, you okay?" Mikey asked after a prolonged silence, frowning in bemusement.

"Uh, _no_," Raph replied with narrowed eyes. "Can you at least warn everyone when you're gonna say something like – like that? It's gross!"

Michelangelo glanced down at the bag of cheese puffs in his hands, frowning at Raphael's admonishment. Sensing his hurt, Donatello said, "Never mind, Mikey. It's okay. So, uh, do you have any…other questions?"

Raphael's comment forgotten, Michelangelo hummed to himself, wracking his brain for pressing questions. A few seconds later, he cried out, "Oo! Oo! I got it: how do the eggs and the sperm get mixed together?"

By the end of his question, he was staring directly at Leonardo, who had subconsciously started to recede into his shell with mortification. Purple Dragons, he could handle. Mutants, no problem. Shredder was difficult, but nothing he wasn't used to. But sexual education? Leonardo had met his match.

"Duuude! Earth to Leo!" Mikey called when his brother had yet to respond. Blinking his enormous blue eyes, he repeated, "How do the eggs and the sperm get mixed together? Do they, like…put them in a blender or something?"

The imagery that followed was too much for Leonardo, who envisioned a most foul concoction that rivaled the grossness of even the Pishake.

It was time to go.

He glanced at the clock and exclaimed, "Oh, is it three o'clock already? Time for meditation!"

He rocketed to his feet and headed toward the dojo, intent on making a hasty exit before his brothers had a chance to challenge his weak excuse. He didn't count on Donatello's motor-mouth.

"Hey! But meditation isn't until after dinner," Don pointed out, causing Leo to momentarily pause on his way to the illuminated dojo.

Stuttering with effort, Leonardo fibbed, "Yeah, well it's, uh, i-i-it's special leader meditation…training. Splinter's orders. You guys would hate it, it's really boring. Gotta go, bye!"

He reached into his belt and closed his hand on a smoke bomb, launching it at the floor. In a puff of purple smoke, Leonardo was gone.

There was a beat of silence before Raphael scoffed, "Prude."

"What'd I say?" Mikey wondered aloud, seemingly oblivious to the fact he was the cause of his brother's graceless exit.

His voice gentle, Donatello reassured him, "It's nothing, Mikey. Leo's just uncomfortable talking about this sort of stuff."

"Yeah, Lamenardo can hardly stand hearing about sex. He would, like, turn to stone or something if he heard the words "blow job"," Raph remarked, grinning wolfishly at the thought. He'd have to try that some time, if only to see how red Leo's face would get.

"What does bl–?

"To answer your earlier question, Mikey," Donatello interrupted, cutting Michelangelo off, "When human males and females mate, the male inserts his penis into the female's sexual entrance, called the vagina. You see, the vagina leads to the uterus and eventually the fallopian tubes and ovaries, where the female's eggs are stored. When the sperm enters and finds the egg, they merge together to start developing into a baby. In turtles, the male inserts his phallus into the cloaca of the female turtle, much like humans. The difference is that turtles only participate in intercourse when in a mating season, while humans do so throughout the year."

Losing interest now that Leo wasn't around to constantly tease, Raphael criticized, "Seriously, Don, your explanation is drier than toast!"

"Well excuuuse me for trying to be factually accurate," Donatello all but snapped, frowning at Raph. "Besides, I don't want to make it too inappropriate for Mikey. It's a bit much to take in all at once."

"That's what she said!" Mikey suddenly crowed, startling the other two. As Raph and Don processed what he had said, their expressions contorted in disgust.

Mikey was notorious for trying and failing to make "That's what she said" jokes, because he never understood the context and would shout it out at random. More often than not, Mikey would say it after a comment he himself had made that made little to no sense and wasn't funny in the least. Now, though, Mikey had unintentionally used it in the perfect context, leaving his brothers disturbed.

His grin at his accomplishment quickly began to dissolve and Mikey asked in a smaller voice, "Did I use that right?"

"Yeah, a bit _too_ correctly," Don responded, trying to get that image out of his head.

Raphael, lips still pursed, said, "Well, this just got really weird. I'm out."

"WAIT! What did I say?" Mikey called after Raph as he made a beeline for his bedroom where his favourite turtle Spike would be no doubt munching on a leaf. At least _Spike_ wasn't gross.

To comfort his brother, Donatello said, "Don't worry, I don't mind questions. It's important to be curious about how bodies work. Ask me anything and I'll answer it."

"Really?" Mikey asked, his smile widening at the genuine interest his brother had in helping him understand.

"Absolutely," Donatello replied.

How soon he would come to regret this.

Reflecting upon the past few minutes, Mikey said, "Okay. So…what's a blow job? You know, that thing Raph mentioned?"

Silence met Michelangelo's ears as a strangely blank look possessed Donatello's face. The purple masked turtle's left eye twitched noticeably, his brown eyes staring into space. Finally, he spoke:

"Donedonedone, I am SO done!"

With that, Donatello raced for his room, swinging the door shut with a loud slam. Mikey suddenly found himself alone in the pit without even the murmur of his brothers' voices for company.

…just as planned.

"Dr. Prankenstein strikes again!" Mikey crowed, snagging the remote from where it had been discarded on the floor. He flicked to a channel playing "Coralbob Rectangular Trousers" and settled back into his seat, ripping open the bag of cheese puffs still in his hands. During the advertisements preceding his show, Michelangelo spared a moment to laugh at his brothers' naiveté. As if he didn't know about that stuff! Splinter had given him "The Talk" _months _ago.

As the theme song played, Mikey stuffed a fistful of puffs into his mouth and declared, "Best. Show. EVER!"

* * *

_Further proof that Michelangelo is, in fact, a genius._

_I was concerned that some of the brothers were OOC sometimes and that the subject matter itself was a bit inappropriate but the idea just stuck with me. I think Mikey could pull this off, if only because his big bros occasionally underestimate and baby him. Plus, the little bugger has the best puppy dog eyes _XD  
_Thank you so much for reading, don't forget to review!_


End file.
